


off the record

by spidermanhomecomeme



Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (lmao), Angst, Car Accidents, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Feelings Realization, Idiots, Journalism, Misunderstandings, Mutual Manipulation, Non-Explicit, Peter and MJ both work at the Daily Bugle, Rom-Com Elements, Sexual Tension, the both of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24928495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme
Summary: Michelle stares, deadpan, at her friend, unimpressed with the light teasing. “Yeah. I know. But—” She sighs. “It’s not permanent. As soon as I get that interview, we can go back to hating each other. It’s perfect.”If all it took was being nice and polite, genuinely, then Michelle could certainly do it. No problem. She’ll kick this off right. She’ll show up at his office on Monday with coffee after she turns in this next article, they’ll talk things out, it’ll be great. Fast friends.Or, as she’d much prefer, vaguely rude acquaintances that are on relatively good terms.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796449
Comments: 180
Kudos: 163
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHH DAY SIX we're almost there everybody!!! It's been so fun writing and reading and just seeing all the amazing creations that have come out of this week!
> 
> this fic is a simple, short-ish journalist au! Enjoy!!

The anger Michelle feels right in this moment is no stranger to her.

It’s boiling hot, bubbling just under the surface of her skin, and she hides it under a thinning veil of nonchalance. She walks with purpose down the hall, far away from Mr. Jameson’s office, her footsteps echoing sharply.

The day had started out like any other, boring, uneventful, still a chance for it not to turn into a shitstorm. After writing her most successful article to date for the Daily Bugle’s website—one concerning a certain masked vigilante-slash-menace and his fight with a one Aleksei Systevich and the million dollars of damage that was brought onto Rockefeller Center as a result of said fight—Michelle had assumed that the hundreds of thousands of hits and the out pour of response from the readers, that she would be able to move on. 

That she wouldn’t be stuck in this Groundhog Day time-loop of writing article after article about the dumb webhead.

Normally, hearing that the website was doing so well might make her happy. She might celebrate that every front page piece of writing is hers, her name under every article right at the top. Then again, the only reason they’re doing so well, and the only reason she’s consistently getting the top spot, is by slandering some idiot’s image. 

Or rather, in this case, _libeling_ some idiot’s image. 

This job was supposed to be a stepping stone for something else, something better. Something that would launch her into the higher world of journalism. There’s this underlying feeling, one that tells her that this is only temporary. That this can lead to bigger and better things. 

Though, part of her doesn’t think spending precious time writing sensationalized, gotcha-pieces is what’s going to help her.

But Jameson had said otherwise. He said that this was exactly what the people wanted, not the boring political think-pieces that she wanted to write about. The people want drama, he’d said. They _want_ to be _angry,_ he’d said IN ALL CAPS, his seemingly permanent speaking voice. He had turned her down when she’d asked if she could write something else, almost immediately, and instead, emailed her yet another folder of Spider-Man pictures that Peter Parker had sent him earlier. 

_God. Peter Parker._

Just thinking the name makes the burning anger within her flare; makes her stomach twist into stinging knots. Her jaw clenches as she thinks about how this is all technically his fault. Sure, she could very well be forced into writing the articles without the pictures, but apparently, it’s the pictures _and_ her punny, scathing titles that grab the reader’s attention. It all really took off when they got that first up-close-and-personal shot. 

And then, come to think of it—though she’s not sure how or why Parker knows Spider-Man, and frankly she doesn’t care to know—why on earth would one of “Earth’s Mightiest _(ha)_ Heroes” keep letting this guy take his pictures if he’s just giving them to the news site that’s going to keep roasting him alive? It didn’t make a lick of sense. And if it’s just a matter of ignorance, how could he possibly not realize that was going on?

Something’s not adding up.

But then again, she doesn’t have time to follow that suspicion. Apparently, she’s got another article to write. Due by the Monday of next week, eight o’ clock in the morning on the dot in Jameson’s inbox. 

She has the rest of this Friday evening and a whole weekend. 

Closing her eyes, setting her jaw, she comes to the elevator, her hand just missing the button in her haste. The faint, slightly-off-pitch ding from the door opening forces her eyes open again, and truly, she’d rather just close them again and wait for the next one than get in. 

Right in front of her, eyes widening a fraction in surprise before narrowing ever so slightly, is who she considers might the actual devil himself.

Peter Parker stares at her a moment before quickly ripping his gaze away. “Evening, Ms. Jones.” He says, mostly out of what she assumes is an attempt at being polite, as he stares down at his shoes.

She decides it’s not worth waiting, wanting to just go home and get this damn article over with so she can go on to write the next. And the next. And the next. 

“Evening,” she replies with a curt nod, responding _not_ because she wants the last word **—** it’s nothing like that _at all_ **—** but simply out of the desire not to be perceived as rude. 

He stands there, shifting on his feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see his thumb tapping rhythmically against the strap of his messenger bag as he glances up at the ceiling. It’s something so quiet, yet as far as she’s concerned, it brings the same effect as nails on a chalkboard to her ears. 

“Heading home?” He asks after a crushing beat, starting to reach for the buttons along the wall to close the door.

“Yep,” Is her one word reply, and she leaves it at that, emphasizing the _p_ with a final _pop_. 

Michelle doesn’t hear any response, and sees him give a single nod when she passes a fleeting side-eyed glance. They both stare straight ahead as the doors close in front of them. The elevator kicks to life, beginning the long downward descent to the ground floor. Peter clears his throat, once again a noise that grates on her ears. 

The air in the small box is thick. Heavy. Though she can’t see his face, and though he may try and hide it behind a forced smile, she knows the same disdain is there. And how could it not be? He’s clearly friends with the man she’s been writing about, being his photographer and what not, and it would explain the withering glares he throws at her after each new article is released when he thinks she’s not looking. 

It’s not as if she’s watching him, though. It’s nothing like that. She’s merely being observant. 

And besides, she couldn’t care less how he actually feels about her behind the heated stares and the dramatic clenches of his jaw. It’s not her problem. It’s not something she needs to concern herself with. 

Peter Parker is the least of her worries. 

In her peripheral vision, she sees him rock back on his heels, looking down at his watch. He blows out a harsh puff of air, shaking his head. 

God, he’s thinking so loud, she wishes she could tell him to shut the hell up. 

“Got a long weekend?” He asks out of the blue, shattering the brick wall of silence between them. There’s a slight pointedness to his question, and she swears there’s a hint of humor in his tone as if he knows all about this assignment she’s just been given. He knows damn well that he’s the reason she’s so miserable. 

For a moment, she doesn’t answer. Perhaps she can pretend she hasn’t heard him. “Nope.” Again, she gives the single-word answer, nothing more. His attempt at conversation just to seem polite is laughable. 

Whether or not he’s satisfied with her answer, she doesn’t bother finding out, and she doesn’t care. The door opens with another ding, and she’s out before he can make any other sad attempt. 

\--

“Okay, Grumpy,” Ned says as he passes a beer to his best friend across the table. 

Peter looks up at him, his lips pulled into a frown. “Grumpy? What are you talking about?”

“We’re really gonna do this right now?” 

“Do what?” Peter’s brow pinches together as his head jerks back in surprise. “I’m fine.”

Ned gives him a pointed look. 

A beat passes before Peter finally relents, sinking back against the booth in the crowded bar. “It’s Michelle. From work.”

“I’m aware of who Michelle is, yes,” Ned gives a slow nod. 

Peter shakes his head, leaning forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “It’s just—I know she’s writing another article about me—about Spider-Man. And I guess I get that it’s her job and all, but… You’d think she’d turn it down after the first dozen, you know? Like, yeah, we get it. New York gets it. Spidey’s a menace. All the help he does actually causes a lot of damage. Sure, I could probably stop giving Jameson the pictures, but... I need this job. And... And I don’t think that’d actually help.” 

Ned nods slowly, listening to his friend rant. 

“And—and, yeah, maybe she’s writing all this shit to please Jameson, and maybe she doesn’t actually believe anything she writes but… why keep doing it?”

“Maybe he won’t let her?” Ned suggests. 

“Nah.” Peter waves that idea off. “Jameson worships the ground she walks on. She can do _no wrong_ in his eyes apparently. Meanwhile, I give him amazing shots of Spider-Man that he can just have her completely shit on, and I do it all without complaining.”

Again, Ned gives him a pointed, questioning look.

“This is different!”

“Uh-huh.” Ned’s lips press together into a thin line as he stares at his beer in contemplation. Finally, after a moment, he speaks. “Did you ever think about… asking her to stop writing them?”

Peter frowns, brow furrowing. “Asking her? Absolutely not. She’d say no. No—she wouldn’t even let me _ask._ She seems to hate me for some reason? Like—” He pauses, taking a breath. “Today. In the elevator. I was trying to be nice to her. Trying to be polite. I tried to make conversation with her and she just blew me off.” He scoffs, taking a swig of his beer. “And besides, if I ask her to stop writing those articles about Spider-Man, she’s gonna _find out_ I’m Spider-Man.”

Ned purses his lips, nodding solemnly. “I mean,” he takes a drink of his beer. “Maybe if she didn’t hate you, you could ask.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know why she hates me. That’s the problem.”

“Dude, I doubt you’ll ever find out why if you don’t talk to her.”

“Did you not hear me?” Peter asks, exasperated. “I tried talking to her.”

“Well, maybe don’t start with talking,” Ned continues. “If she hates your guts like you say she does, you can’t just walk up to her all ‘oh, hi Ms. Jones! How’s your day?’” Ned shrugs. “I guess what I’m saying is… just be… friendly? Be yourself. Don’t… _try_ so hard. To her, it’s probably coming across as fake.”

Peter sits back again, mouth set in deep thought. 

“You’re a great guy, Peter,” Ned says genuinely. “And my best friend. She’ll see that if you just… don’t be a dick.”

At that, Peter laughs for the first time that night. “Thanks, Ned.” In spite of his sour mood, the small grin that forms on his face stays. 

“No problem, man,” Ned shrugs. “So, movies this weekend…”

As Ned continues, Peter picks at his thumb, twiddling his fingers, contemplating. As much as he hates to admit it, his best friend is right. He’s not going to get anywhere with Michelle if she keeps hating him, and even if he might not understand why, he needs to at least make an effort to not fuel that fire with whatever the hell he does that bothers her. 

No, if he wants those articles of Spider-Man to stop one) he should stop supplying pictures for Jameson and maybe try something else, and two) become friends with her and just ask. He knows it’s not going to be easy, but at this point, he’s willing to try anything. 

And as his friend is talking, he can see the memory from earlier today, the one of her steely glare that she thought he couldn’t see as she stormed out of the elevator. The way her eyes had made his stomach turn and flip, his face growing unbearably hot. 

_God, this is gonna be hard._

\--

Michelle can barely hear Betty’s voice from the kitchen asking whether or not she wanted the chardonnay or the riesling over the sound of her furious typing. It’s been only three hours since she got home, and she’s already flying through this article. 

Truly, it’s not difficult writing, the scathing libel. It takes skill, sure, but this has never felt like something she put one-hundred percent into. Though, now, as she’s begun to run out of different insults and turns of phrase to throw at this hero, she’s beginning to reconsider her original judgement. 

“Here.”

Betty’s voice suddenly close by—accompanied by the sound of a wine glass _clacking_ onto the coffee table—startles her out of her writing trance. 

“Got you the riesling.” Betty throws a soft smile before sitting herself on the other side of the couch. 

Michelle returns the expression, though it takes some effort, before reaching for her drink. “Thanks,” she mutters before taking a sip.

“Anytime,” Betty grins again. “Jameson got you writing another one?”

Michelle glances down at her laptop before running a stressed hand through her hair. “Yeah. Yeah he is.” 

“Did you—”

“—Yes. I asked him. Again. Today.” Michelle answers before Betty can even finish the question. “And, as usual. He said no. Apparently, the internet doesn’t care about things that are actually important.”

Betty cringes, pulling her legs up under her. “Sorry.”

Michelle lets out a half-hearted laugh. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not. But what’s one more, right?” She shrugs. “At this point, I’d have to find something bigger than Spider-Man to get the masses all up in arms.”

Betty weighs that statement, squinting one eye. “What’s bigger than Spider-Man?”

“The Avengers, probably,” Michelle answers easily. “I don’t know. Jameson really hates Spider-Man. Like really hates him. Probably more than he hates his wife, I’m guessing. If I wanna stop writing about Spider-Man, I have to write the most sensational, stupid, dramatic article ever written.”

At that, Betty gives a half-smile, before her eyes go wide, a light bulb appearing above her head. 

“What?” Michelle asks warily. 

“What if you found out who he really is?”

“Who? Spider-Man?”

“Spider-Man.”

It’s Michelle’s turn to be skeptical. “You really think I can figure that out?”

Betty gives her a deadpan stare. “Please, you _know_ you can.”

Michelle looks down at her hands. “I mean, yeah. I probably could. Eventually. But—” She tilts her head from side to side. She opens her mouth to continue before clamping her mouth shut, sitting straight up. “Peter Parker knows Spider-Man.”

“Yeah, he’s the guy who gets all the pictures, right?”

“Right.” Michelle puts her laptop on the couch, standing up slowly. “If I can get him to introduce me, and then interview Spidey, I could definitely figure it out.”

“But you guys hate each other,” Betty points out.

“Well… Yeah, but—” Michelle starts pacing. “Maybe if I were friends with him, or like… just vaguely rude acquaintances that are on relatively good terms, then maybe—maybe it could work?”

Betty’s lips twist thoughtfully as she watches her friend. “I mean, maybe. But MJ—” she cuts herself off. “If you’re gonna try and be friends with him…” She pauses. “You’re gonna have to be _nice_ to him.” 

Michelle stares, deadpan, at her friend, unimpressed with the light teasing. “Yeah. I know. But—” She sighs. “It’s not permanent. As soon as I get that interview, we can go back to hating each other. It’s perfect.”

If all it took was being nice and polite, genuinely, then Michelle could certainly do it. No problem. She’ll kick this off right. She’ll show up at his office on Monday with coffee after she turns in this next article, they’ll talk things out, it’ll be great. Fast friends. 

Or, as she’d much prefer, vaguely rude acquaintances that are on relatively good terms. 

No, this wasn’t as hard as Betty was making it out to be. Michelle could be mature. She could make and enemy into a friend. Plus, she’s seen Peter when he’s not interacting with her. He smiles a lot, and when he laughs, the corners of his eyes wrinkle warmly. He’s always happy to joke with other coworkers. Always helping out with other projects.

Just a few things she’s observed about him. 

Other than him being an absolute dick. 

“You really think it’ll be that easy?” Betty asks, eyebrows raised skeptically. 

Michelle smirks, taking her wine glass in hand and taking a slow sip. 

“I really do.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! thank you to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos on the first chapter!! I am hoping to get this lil fic done pretty soon, so updates should be regular!! Thanks for sticking with me guys! I've got a lot of other fun stuff planned!!

It shouldn’t be this hard.

At least, in theory. 

Really, Michelle’s been through worse. 

Befriending—or at least pretending to—Peter Parker by joining him at his desk with two to-go cups of coffee should be easy—the keyword here being “should.”

But as she stands just outside the office entrance, Peter’s desk just in her line of sight, she begins to doubt her resilience. It’s a simple task: asking him to chat, offering him a cup of coffee. Something she would be comfortable asking any other coworker in an effort to gain insight on a particular subject. It’s a perfectly normal occurrence. 

So why in God’s name is the idea of sitting for longer than ten seconds with him making her legs suddenly feel as though they’re filled from hip to toe with lead? What the actual fuck is wrong with her? It’s not as if she’s worried he’ll say no—in fact, the thought hasn’t even crossed her mind ~~until now.~~ No one says no to free coffee. No, it’s more likely that she’s worried he’ll actually say yes and that she’ll have to spend time alone with him. The thought of actually _talking_ to him for once is sickening. 

But, again, it’s for the greater good. For her. It’s in her best interest. 

Peter looks up as another one of their coworkers passes by with a wave, and he offers his signature, warm and homey smile that always makes her want to find the nearest trashcan and immediately vomit. Instead, she steels herself, and with a final, resolute nod, she accepts her fate, using her elbow to push through the door and into the main office. 

He doesn’t see her approach at first, or at least he pretends not to as he opens a file on his desk, rifling through the papers. Though, the look of surprise on his face—plus the way he almost drops the small stack in his hands—shows that she’s the last person he’d expected to see. “Oh, uh, hi. Michelle.” Like with the coworker from seconds before, his expression melts into a smile—albeit, a forced one. 

_Wow._

“Hey…” She trails off, suddenly unsure of how the hell she’s supposed to be standing. “You.”

He squints, trying his best to keep the grin on his face as it falters slightly. “Hi,” he repeats, eyes darting down to the two cups in her hand then back up to her face.

And it’s nothing like she’d rehearsed—in her brain—earlier. Nothing at all. Why, all of a sudden, is it so hard to talk to this guy without wanting to just dump the coffee on his head and whack the folder right out of his hands? 

“Coffee?” She asks with an uncharacteristically sweet voice as she holds out one of the cups to him.

Peter lets out a quiet huff of an unsure laugh. “Um—” His gaze flits left and right. “Sure…” He trails off. 

Wordlessly, she hands him the cup, and she almost punches him right then and there when he not-so-subtly sniffs it before taking an overly cautious sip. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh, it’s good!” He speaks as if the idea that she didn’t poison his coffee is what the big shocker is. 

A muscle twitches in her jaw, and she tries to fight the way her lips want to twist into an angry frown. Of course it’s good. Michelle knows what she’s doing; she’s seen him taking the last bit of coffee in the lounge more than a dozen times, always pouring an obscene amount of milk and sugar into his mugs. 

Michelle’s not playing around; she’s here to make friends. 

Taking a sip of her own coffee to hide the anger threatening to boil over, she waits for him to speak. He hasn’t invited her to sit, and she’s not sure if she wants to be the one to initiate that particular part. She’s the one who brought the coffee. Now, the ball’s in his court. 

“Working hard?” She asks against her better judgement, and she doesn’t miss the flash of annoyance in Peter’s eyes behind his lopsided grin. 

“Obviously not as hard as you are,” he offers, an edge to his clearly forced enthusiasm, taking another drink of his coffee as he rocks back on his heels. “Heard Jameson loved the new article.”

_God, she hates him so much._

“Of course he did,” she mutters under her breath. “It’s what the people want.”

_God, he hates her so much._

A beat passes.

“Well thanks for the coffee—”

“Good talk—”

They both speak at the same time, both of them forcing a laugh at the jinx. His gaze holds hers for a moment, and once again, she feels that same urge to pour her hot coffee over his head, her stomach tangling in fiery knots at the brief exchange. 

Without another word, Michelle’s feet carry her away and to her own corner of the office. Unconsciously, she nearly slams her drink on her desk in her sour mood. She slumps into her chair, pulling her laptop out of her bag and occupying herself with pretending to open another word document. 

That certainly could have gone better. 

Really, how hard was it for him to be civil? She had been so kind as to bring _him_ coffee. The least he could do is to try to make conversation without… well, without being himself. Her gaze darts up from behind the lid of her laptop, her eyes careful in watching him as he sits back in his chair, covering his face with one hand before he cards the other through his hair before it clenches into a fist on top of his desk. 

Truly, in that moment, as she continues to unconsciously watch him from across the office, she realizes that as difficult as he’s going to make this, she can’t let it stop her. No matter how much of an annoying pain-in-the-ass he is, she has to remember why she’s doing this. 

She sees him smile at another of their coworkers as they pass by before taking another tentative sip of his coffee, his eyes flitting upward as he lowers his cup.

Her chest seizes when in that split-second, his gaze meets hers as he catches her staring, and she almost gives herself whiplash with how fast she tears away, her face burning hot. 

\--

After the disaster of yesterday’s impromptu coffee get-together, Michelle knows that if she wants any part of this to actually go off without a hitch, she’s going to have to change her approach. She comes into the office that morning, a brand new plan having been brewing in her mind since the previous evening, when—

“You wanna go get coffee with me?” 

Truly, she’s not sure she’s ever been more shocked and surprised at the sight of someone at her desk. Peter’s standing there, his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders held high and tight as his brows pull together in what she offhandedly thinks looks like something akin to constipation.

He seems to have beaten her to the punch. 

Perhaps her little stunt yesterday paid off.

“What?” She finds herself asking, voice acting on its own accord. 

“Do you wanna—” He coughs into a fist, clearing his throat. “Go get coffee with me?” He throws a firm thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a place down the street.” 

A beat. 

“Sure.”

In fact, Peter’s just as surprised as she is, his eyebrows darting upward for a fraction of a second before he seems to collect himself. “Great,” he responds with a tight-lipped, thin smile. When she’d come to his desk yesterday, two coffees in hand, he’d taken it as a good sign—of course, after the initial fear that she might have been poisoning him. It had been, for that moment, something that he could see becoming easier between them. But then, after she’d made that snide comment about—about whatever hell it was—he’d quickly fallen back into the same, heartburn-inducing hatred. 

It was then that he knew he had to change tactics. 

They wait for their combined lunch hours before they head out, walking in deafeningly loud silence together through the halls and out into the city streets. One of his knuckles brushes hers as they walk, and she mentally reminds herself to _burn_ that hand later as she yanks it away. At the brief, fleeting touch, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his eyes trained ahead on the sidewalk. 

The small coffee shop is warm and inviting, though Michelle finds it to be almost too warm under her jacket as they order their drinks and settle into one of the corner booths. He orders a caramel mocha, and she wants to scoff. _A kid’s drink_ , she thinks offhandedly, not stopping to consider the frivolity of being annoyed at someone’s drink order—one that happens to be fairly common at that. 

“So…” Peter trails off, watching with pursed lips as she stirs cinnamon into her cappuccino. 

He clears his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck as he glances around the coffee shop, almost as if he’s looking for a way out, perhaps an emergency exit. His leg bounces furiously under the table, every so often his heel tapping against the dark wood floors below, a sound that Michelle has to actively ignore in order not to just get up and leave. 

Peter stares down into his coffee—well, more like a pile of whipped cream—for a moment, lips pursing in thought as he swirls the mug in his hand. 

It’s easy to see how hard he’s thinking, and for some reason, Michelle finds herself strangely pleased at this; there’s a hint of satisfaction at the fact that it's taking him so long to say anything at all. 

But then, it becomes infuriating that he doesn’t even try to continue his initial thought. _He can at least try,_ she thinks.

She decides, in a brief moment of what she can only assume is pity, to put him out of his misery. “It’s funny that you asked to get coffee today,” she starts, setting the wooden stirring stick to the side before taking a sip of her drink. “I was planning on asking _you.”_

He does seem surprised at that. “Huh. Really?”

With a hum, she sits back against the leather seat. “Really.” She briefly glances down to her clasped hands in her lap, knowing that they were now officially entering the first phase of her plan. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something—or I guess ask about… something.”

Something flashes across his face that she can’t immediately identify, and she unconsciously feels herself stiffen at the unknown expression. 

“Really?” He asks again, quirking a curious brow as he takes a long sip of his mocha. 

The corner of her lip twitches ever-so-slightly before she boldly leans forward on the table, bracing herself on her forearms. “I was wanting to ask if you could help me with an article I’m working on.”

At that, he freezes, eyes darting up to hers. He swallows slowly, and she doesn’t miss the hint of annoyance that tints his expression as he sets his mug down with a dull thud. “What kind of article?” 

As much as she wants to call him out for swan diving into a pit of hasty conclusions, she refrains. “About Spider-Man.” He bristles, jaw setting, but she doesn’t let him speak. She leans in even further, voice hushed. “The _truth_ , this time. I’m tired of writing all this bullshit about how terrible he is. I’m done. I want the world to know who Spidey _really_ is.”

Her words come out so earnestly, she almost believes herself. 

But it’s not like she’s _completely_ lying. There’s truth in that particular corner of the web. 

“Really?”

It takes everything in her not to mock the question he’s asked three times already.

“Really.”

And for the first time, she sees the beginnings of a genuine—somehow, relieved—half-smile tug at the corner of Peter’s mouth. Though, his fleeting, happy expression is gone as he seems to remember himself, sitting back in his side of the booth. 

Peter, of course, is shocked that she’s the one to bring up stopping the libel in the first place. This hadn’t been part of his plan in the slightest. But, as hopeful and relieved he is that this may be easier than he thought, he doesn’t want to let his guard down too quickly. He maintains a thoughtful expression, making sure not to seem too eager in his response. 

Michelle can see him weighing his options, can almost hear the near-rusted wheels turning as he tilts his head from side-to-side. He folds his arms across his chest, and her eyes are immediately drawn to his exposed forearms as they flex briefly. 

“What do you think?” She hastily spits out, mentally kicking herself. 

“I mean—” He starts, cutting himself off as he brings a hand to rub thoughtfully at his jaw, his tone casual. “I think it’s a great idea. Spidey, uh—he’d be happy about it. Though, not that your articles really have that much of an effect on him now, he doesn’t really care enough—”

She can feel her eye twitch, though he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Not sure if Jameson would be super happy about it, though,” Peter reasons, shrugging apologetically. 

She forces her twisting lips into a neutral expression. “Who says I plan on telling him?”

Sure, that’s a bold-faced lie—she plans on telling Jameson as soon as she can to get the green light—but that’s unimportant.

Peter cocks his head to the side, squinting slightly. “You sure something like that would even do well?” 

“Think about it,” Michelle answers easily. “A news site that’s been constantly dragging Spider-Man down suddenly having a change of heart after a thorough expose on what he does for New York, painting him as the true hero that the city needs, showing the citizens who he is?”

He nods slowly as she speaks, biting back the winning smile desperately wanting to show. 

But that expression only comes across as smug to Michelle, and she clenches her fist underneath the table before digging her nails into her leg. 

“I’m in,” Peter says after a beat. He leans forward on the table, his hands clasping together. “What do you need from me?”

“Well, first, I’d like to interview you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“Why me?”

She gives him a pointed, deadpan stare. “You’re his photographer aren’t you? And you seem to know him pretty well.”

“I mean, not _that_ well—”

A beat passes. 

She blinks. 

“Okay, fine. Yeah,” Peter concedes. “You can interview me. What else?”

A smirk tugs at her lips. 

“I’d like an interview with Spider-Man.”

At that, he blanches, and for a split-second, there’s a tugging dread in Michelle’s gut that she’s gone too far with that one request, but it’s instantly smothered as she waits for him to respond. 

Peter stares at her, mouth parted in slight surprise. Really, he knows he should have seen this coming; writing an article all about Spider-Man and the things he does for this city, of course she’d want an interview with him. And although he feels as if he’s already succeeded in his plan, he knows that this isn’t a one-way street, that in order for him to really win, he has to give her this one thing. 

Though, his main worry stems from knowing that as an ~~excellent~~ investigative journalist, Michelle’s observation skills are nothing to joke about. How she’d be able interview the two of them—Peter Parker and Spider-Man—and _not_ immediately connect the dots, he’s not sure. 

“I know he’s busy, but—” Michelle cuts in again. “I think it’d be really great to get exact quotes from the guy himself.”

Peter looks right back at her, contemplating. The corner of his lip twitches upward into a small, wry grin as he huffs, glancing to the side before meeting her gaze again. 

He figures that’s just a chance he’s going to have to take. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! i love kudos and any and all comments, so let me know what ya think!! on a scale of 1-10, how big of a disaster is this going to be?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! I updated the chapter count! This story is a relatively short one, but it's been a lot of fun to write! so fun, in fact, that I have yet another enemies to lovers I'm planning! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

They had agreed to meet at the same coffee shop later in the week, Michelle finding herself mysteriously—and annoyingly—frazzled in the days leading up to their interview, especially the morning of. For some unknown reason, her normal morning routine is extended by at least a half-hour, her mind buzzing the moment she wakes up from a restless night. Her stomach twists as she looks at her planner, and she writes it off as the dread of having to actually converse with Parker again. 

“Haven’t seen that dress in a while,” Betty smirks knowingly from behind her morning coffee, Michelle having not even noticed her roommate sitting there in the first place. 

Michelle looks up, her eyes setting into a wary glare after the initial startle. “And?” She asks slowly as she puts a piece of bread in the toaster. 

Betty tips her head, voice smooth and casual. “What’s the occasion?”

“Uh, nothing?” Michelle’s gaze darts left and right, her mouth setting into a frown as she walks to the fridge, pulling out the strawberry jam, her hands fumbling slightly with the jar. “Work?”

Betty taps her fingers against the glass mug, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Aren’t you interviewing Peter today?” 

Again, Michelle looks away, blowing a harsh puff of frustrated air through her nose. “Shut up,” she mutters as her toast pops up. She can hear her roommate suppress a snort of laughter from behind her, the sound making her almost roll her eyes into the fifth dimension as she spreads the jam onto her breakfast.

“You like nice,” Betty offers, the playful edge still in her tone.

Michelle elects to ignore that particular comment, pointedly taking a bite of her toast with an annoyed _crunch_ as she heads for the door, blocking out Betty’s final, “Remember the mission!” as she slams it behind her. 

The beginning of the workday before lunch proves to be just as frustrating. Peter has the _audacity_ to wave at her when she walks in, his mouth curved into a stupid, timid smile that she knows has to be just as forced as hers is. Her returning wave is stiff, and she trains her gaze on the ground as she hurries walks with purpose to her desk. 

(Peter of course, takes issue with the fact that _her_ tight-lipped, half-assed smile seems so disingenuous.)

Michelle can hardly get any work done, unable to stop herself from glancing up at him working at his desk every so often, feeling as if she has heartburn radiating from her head to her toes. And _then,_ just as she’s leaving her office and out the door, just as she’s walking on the sidewalk, sirens blaring as police cars speed by, she gets a text from him explaining that he ran into some “family stuff” that he needed to deal with first, but that he would still be on time to the interview. 

She stirs at her cappuccino, tapping the wooden stick on the cup before setting it aside. Her voice recorder sits to the side of her open notebook, and she twirls her pen mindlessly between her fingers. For a moment, she’s occupied with whether or not she should be toying with it when he walks in, or if it should be at the side, next to her paper—thinking that perhaps the latter might make her look more professional. 

Then, in the next moment, she berates herself for worrying about such a pointless detail. 

Besides; what did she care about professionalism? 

_He_ was the one who was currently eleven minutes late to their very _scheduled_ interview. 

But who’s counting?

(She is.)

It’s fine. Totally fine. It’s not like they only have an hour for lunch. 

Then, as she starts to feel the real anger set in, she sees the jerk running outside the window, and she watches as he rushes to the entrance. As he flings the door open, the sharp ringing of the bell echoing in the cafe, she quickly averts her gaze down to her own coffee. She’s the very air of nonchalance as he approaches her booth, not even looking up as he flops down onto the bench across from her. 

“Sorry—” He’s cut off by his own need to catch his breath. “Had a—had a… thing. With—”

“With your family?” When she dares to glance up at him, she’s alarmed at his disheveled appearance, his hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink. 

In her mind, there are three possibilities as to why this is. One, being that he really did have a “family thing” and actually ran all the way here. Two, being that he had lied and just came from an intense workout at the gym. And three, being that he had been caught up in some hasty conquest of some kind.

The third doesn’t seem as likely, given that she’s never perceived Peter as being the “one-and-done” type of person, and he’s never mentioned anything about any significant other. And, of course, the idea that anyone in their right mind would want to sleep with this man just seems impossible to her. Still, the third possibility stays in the back of her mind, poking and prodding at her relentlessly as he blinks owlishly at her.

But, as bothered as she is, she doesn’t let it show (too much). 

Peter huffs out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Yeah…”

“No problem,” Michelle lies. She decides to just ignore his current state entirely, opening her notebook to a fresh page. “Let’s just go ahead and get started.”

Peter nods, lips pressed together in a small smile. 

With a click of her recorder, she sits up straighter, taking her pencil in hand. 

“How would you describe your relationship with Spider-Man?” She asks first.

Peter had been nervous about this before, but no amount of stress could compare to what he felt in this moment. He coughed, clearing his throat. “Um, well…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully, his heart hammering as she gets ready to write whatever nonsense he says. “I’m his photographer, but… I’d actually say that we’re pretty old friends.” 

Michelle briefly glances up from her notes. “So you’ve known him a while.” 

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “Since, uh—since freshman year of high school.”

“Wow, so a long time.” She takes a moment to finish that particular note. “Did you know him before he was Spider-Man?”

Peter takes another pause, disguising it as another cough, trying to decide the best way to answer. “Uh, yeah. Yeah I did.” 

“It’s safe to say that you know him pretty well then?”

“Oh, yeah, you could say that,” Peter says, though there’s a hint of something in his tone that Michelle can’t quite place. “I probably know Spidey better than I know myself,” he jokes half-heartedly, his breath catching when she looks up at him again. 

“You must be close, if you’re the only one who knows who he is.” Michelle observes. She knows she’s going off book, but the more he talks, the more she realizes that this is going to have to seem more genuine, that this shouldn’t feel like an actual interview if she wants to get any actual information.

Peter needs to feel comfortable.

Little does she know how impossible that is given what the interview is actually about. 

Peter chuckles quietly, nodding. “Very. We sometimes joke that we’re pretty much the same person.” He bites his lip, and she misses the brief look of panic that flashes across his face as she goes to take another sip of her coffee. He’s too quick to continue, and she doesn’t stop him. “I mean, we’ve had our ups and downs. There are times where he’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, and—and… there are times, I guess, where I feel like your articles you write about him aren’t all that far off…” He trails off with a faint laugh. 

Her lips twitches upward as she huffs in amusement before her expression turns serious again. There’s a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “Is there a romantic nature to your relationship?”

“What? Oh—no,” Peter sputters. “I mean, not that there would be anything wrong with that at all, but…” He coughs. “I’m single. He’s single. We’re just… We’re…” He pauses, trying to find the best way to word it without giving away his secret identity (in other words, what he’s been trying to do this whole damn interview). “...best friends.” 

Michelle nods slowly, her expression still holding the faintest tint of skepticism, before she looks back down and continues writing. 

After a heavy beat, Peter opens his mouth again.

“We’ve been through a lot, though,” He continues, leaning forward on his forearms. “We, uh, kinda had a falling out… back when my Uncle died, and—” He swallowed, not entirely sure why he’s even saying any of this, and he wonders if Michelle would be willing to keep some of it off the record. Still, he keeps going, unable to stop himself. “And our friendship after that was kinda shaky. But… after a while, I realized that living without him was pretty much impossible.” 

“So you just learned to tolerate him?” Michelle jokes, earnestly for once, not as his expense. 

Peter laughs softly. “In a way, I guess.” He shifts awkwardly, his fingers twiddling together, fearing he’s definitely said too much. “He’s a cool guy though. Solid dude.”

He holds her gaze for a moment before she remembers herself, eyes shifting down to her notes again.

She stares at her next pre-written question, wondering if this will induce the same word vomit as the first. Though, surprisingly, as annoyed as she might have been before at his incessant talking, here she finds that she almost doesn’t mind, and she justifies this new feeling as the product of knowing that his rambling is only helping her. It’s what she wants.

“Would you say that you admire him?” She asks, looking up again. His surprised face when she meets his gaze makes her stomach do an unexplainable flip. 

And truthfully, Peter’s not sure if there’s a safe answer to this question, or at least one that he can easily elaborate on. He falters for a beat, mentally weighing what he should say. “I’m not sure,” he says finally. “I mean, he’s been a part of my life for so long, it’s hard seeing him how normal people see him, you know? I mean, I admire him for what he does; looking out for the little guy, I guess. Just helping out because he can. But…” 

Going into this interview, he hadn’t had the slightest idea that it would turn into some kind of introspective therapy session for himself. 

“There are things he can do better—things we can all do better, obviously—but, I don’t know. He’s so busy keeping track of the city, he doesn’t really make time for the people in his life. And he knows this, and he tries really hard.” Again, Peter laughs, sadly. “But this whole superhero thing… it kinda gets in the way. He just… he has a really hard time keeping friends. I don’t know.”

“You’re his friend,” Michelle offers. 

“That’s because I tolerate him. Remember?” 

The same half-smile pulls at the corner of her lips, and she almost damns herself for letting it show. But once again, she remembers herself, and why she’s here in the first place.

“What’s the origin story of Spider-Man?” She gets right back to business.

“Oh, it’s kinda… It’s kind of a long story,” Peter says with a slight flinch, scratching the back of his neck. 

Michelle looks up from her notes, hand frozen, eyeing him expectantly. 

“Well, um—” Peter lets out a breathy chuckle. “Back in high school. Freshman year. We were, uh, we were on a field trip to Oscorp—for uh, science stuff. They had this exhibit on gamma radiation, and we had to put on this like, protective gear before we could go in the room, and when he was putting his on, there was a spider in there—one that I guess got trapped in there, I don’t know—and it bit him—” He shrugs, before hastily continuing. “I mean, I was there but, like, I didn’t see it happen or anything like that. That’s just what he told me.” 

“So a radioactive spider?”

“I mean, I guess, yeah? Not really, but… Yeah. Sure.” He sits, mouth twisting in thought before he speaks again, voice slightly lowered. “ _My working theory_ is that the spider was hit with gamma radiation. Just like Dr. Banner, you know?”

Michelle only offers a quick nod before continuing. “What exactly are his powers? What can Spider-Man do?”

“Whatever a spider can?” Peter jokes lamely. 

Michelle stares unimpressed. “So, inject venom into your prey and digest their organs and then slurp up their insides? Because that’s what spiders can do.”

At that, Peter lets out a genuine, if not a little grossed-out, laugh, a sound that surprisingly doesn’t make Michelle want to throw her coffee in his face. 

“God, no,” He replies. “No. Like, I just meant climbing walls. And he’s got synthetic webs and webshooters. And this like… sixth sense. Really, the walls thing is the only spidery thing about him.”

“Anything else?” 

“Um… Advanced healing, super strength, enhanced senses like hearing and sight, powerful, unyielding charisma…” 

She looks up at him briefly, eyes narrowed. 

“Just to name a few,” he adds innocently. 

Michelle opens her mouth to speak, a snarky response at the ready, when she’s cut off by the wailing sirens in the distance. Peter cranes his neck, looking past Michelle. She turns. The TV in the corner of the coffee shop shows the scene outside one of the nearby banks, the news anchor’s voice reporting a hostage situation. 

When she turns back to face Peter, his eyes are wide, and after a beat, he hastily pulls his phone out of his pocket. He holds up a finger, obviously pretending to take a phone call from someone named _May_. Apparently, she’s facing quite the inconvenience, judging by Peter’s overacting. 

“Sorry, Michelle,” Peter says as he scrambles up from his side of the booth, nearly tripping on his way out. “I—I gotta go,” He stammers, throwing a stiff thumb over his shoulder. “My uh, my aunt… Needs help…” 

She fixes him with a skeptical glare. 

“We’ll finish this at my desk? Tomorrow? With Coffee? I’ll buy!” 

Before she can even respond, he’s rushing for the door, running as soon as his feet hit the pavement outside. 

Michelle can only watch, sinking back into her seat, her arms folded across her chest. This had certainly gone better than she expected. Sure, there’s still a lot of things left unanswered, given that they’d only made it about half-way through her list of scripted questions. But, she’s not completely in the dark anymore. 

If there’s one thing Michelle’s sure of—100%, to be exact—it’s that Peter Parker is Spider-Man.

\--

Okay, maybe he’s not. Maybe she’s only 67% sure. 

Michelle knows that she shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions, and although the thought hadn’t immediately crossed her mind, she knows that confirmation bias can be a dangerous thing. After a semi-solid night’s sleep, as she’s walking into the Daily Bugle offices, she decides that this isn’t something she should rush into. She needs to keep investigating. She needs to keep talking to Peter, getting to know him. 

Just so she’s really sure. 

Then, and only then, can she make her move. 

Besides, if she’s going to ruin this guy’s life—whoever Spider-Man happens to be—she needs to _really make sure_ it’s the _right_ guy. 

After finishing up the interview at his desk—even after he willingly and thoroughly answers all of her questions—she still feels as though she needs more evidence that he is, in fact, Spider-Man. So, she asks him to meet with her the next day. 

And the next. 

...And the next.

At this point, the questions aren’t even about Spider-Man anymore. Perhaps finding out more about Peter’s own personal life will give her insight as to how he could manage such a time consuming alter-ego. And she trades this information with her own personal anecdotes. 

You know, to make him feel like he’s her friend. That’s how she justifies it.

Peter Parker is surprisingly funny, Michelle finds. And, just in general, not as terrible a person as she’d initially thought. She even lets him start calling her MJ. His little smiles and waves don’t grate on her as much as they did just a few days ago.

Really, if Michelle didn’t hate him so much, she might thing they were actually becoming friends. 

Betty seems to think so as well. Or at least more than that.

And she lets Michelle know this information while she’s mid rant about something funny-slash-stupid he’d said during their fourth consecutive “interview”—this one being after work, dinner at a semi-fancy restaurant. Something ]that seemingly had nothing to do with Spider-Man at all. 

Betty has the gall to actually suggest that instead of hating Peter, Michelle might like him. 

_Like-like_ _him_ , she dares to say. 

MJ, of course, shuts that shit down as soon as Betty even thinks to mention it, mocking the very idea for sounding so juvenile while at the same time finding her face unbearably warm. 

And, on his side of their tiny world, Peter’s in about the same position. He’s had to stop talking to Ned about the whole thing because the guy just keeps pushing this whole _“You’re actually in love with her, you idiot,”_ narrative that’s frankly not true at all. Ned just doesn’t understand how annoying MJ really is, how annoying the way she just smirks at him is, the way she just deadpans almost every joke she has, or the way he finds himself laughing at said jokes…

The way she tucks her curly hair behind her ear and looks away from him like she’s shy or something…

Okay, so he might not actually hate her, but actually, genuinely falling for her has to be the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. Though, he’s surprised to find himself seeing her more and more as a friend everyday. It’s weird.

But what did it matter that they’ve started going out to dinner to discuss her article? He’s just following the plant. There’s nothing else to it. 

So what if he takes a split-second to admire the way she looks? 

Unbeknownst to the other, they both feel the same strange warmth between them, and their smiles are starting to become genuine. While there’s still the annoyance that’s always there, it’s accompanied by a new, unknown, strange feeling. And with this new, tingling feeling comes a tugging guilt, one that’s faint and easily ignored, but certainly there. 

Michelle, for writing this exposé in the first place. Though, the feeling is fleeting, as she’s reminded by another email from Jameson asking for another Spidey article. She knows that her next step is to just keep hanging out with Peter, just to be sure that he’s not Spider-Man himself, to somehow meet his friends, maybe see who’s the flake he’s told her all about. And for once, the idea doesn’t make her want to throw up. 

That, and she still has to interview Spidey.

She knows she just has to stay with the plan, and everything will be fine. 

And that’s what she reminds herself as she’s called to her boss’s office, and especially as Jameson grills her for not responding to his emails regarding his demand for more Spider-Man articles. Of course, in the midst of all the prep and interviews, Michelle had neglected to tell her boss that what she had in store was better than anything he could possibly want her to write.

“JONES!” Jameson barks. “You better have a damn good reason for dodging my emails!”

Michelle barely flinches, able to maintain a sense of coolness in the face of danger. “It’s actually—”

“And I mean really good! Like _dead grandma_ good! Is your grandma dead?”

“...No. I—”

“Wait, I take that back, I don’t care about your grandma!” He waves her off aggressively. “I expect this shit from Thompson or Parker, but not you!”

“I’m sorry,” Michelle says, her tone flat and even, though she feels the slightest bit hesitant to further explain herself. “I’ve been working on something else.”

“Something else?!” Jameson balks. “What else could you possibly be working on?! My assignments not good enough for you?! I tell you what, whatever you’re working on better be—”

Her own internal turmoil as to whether or not she should tell her boss about her plan, quiet as that turmoil is, is enough to put Jameson’s angry rant on mute, at least for a moment. Truly, she’s unsure where this sudden trepidation is coming from, but she assumes it’s because she wants to have as little input from her boss as possible. 

“—It better be big! What are you doing?! Finding out his secret identity?!”

At that, Michelle jerks her head back, mouth parted as she blinks in surprise. “That’s… That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Oh!... Oh?” Jameson stops, frozen, and for once, he speaks in lowercase letters. “Well. Uh. Good.” 

Still in shock that he was lucky enough—she’d say smart, but that was a bit of a stretch—to guess it on whatever try it was, she nods. But then, she remembers the inevitability that Jameson’s going to spread this around the office, maybe as some sick form of motivation for her poor coworkers. 

Which would lead to Peter finding out…

“I’d prefer if we kept this conversation between us, though,” Michelle says, to which Jameson’s only response is a confused quirk of his brow. “I want it to be this big shock to _everyone_ , you know?”

Jameson nods slowly, mouth pressing into a thin line. Clearly, he buys it. “Yes… Yes… You’ve got a point there, Jones.” He claps his hands together, the sound echoing in his office. “Alright! Well! Get back to work then! Find out who Spider-Man is!”

 _God, at this point he’s already told everyone,_ she thinks, hiding the way her eye twitches in annoyance. 

Michelle dismisses herself, moving to leave without another word. As she opens and starts pushing the door behind her, she startles seeing who’s waiting on the other side. 

“Oh! Uh, hey!” She tells herself that the smile on her face is only out of politeness. “Peter!” 

Peter clutches at the strap of his camera bag. He gives a single, stiff nod, his mouth pressing into a tight, thin smile as he rocks back on his heels. 

He looks as if he’s about to say something when Jameson’s booming voice cuts him off. 

“PARKER! GET IN HERE!”

“Good luck,” Michelle teases under her breath. 

Peter forces another smile before pushing past her and into the office.

It leaves Michelle in the near-empty hallway, staring at the closed door, confused—and with a strange, unwelcome sinking _you-fucked-up_ feeling in her gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! leave a comment if u think these idiots are being idiots woo


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo.... i know i said this was only going to be five chapters.... but it turns out that I played myself lol
> 
> Hey guys!! thanks for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos on the last chapter! I'm still having fun writing this whole dynamic, and I'm glad to see you guys liking it!! 
> 
> Enjoy this next chapter!

There’s a new feeling that pulls at Michelle’s chest and causes her stomach to twist and turn into thousands of knots, and it feels dangerously close to guilt. But really, there’s no reason she should be feeling guilty right? She’s not at fault for anything other than doing her job. And besides, if that certain feeling of almost-guilt should happen to be because she’s sure Peter heard her conversation with Jameson through the  _ closed door _ of his office, then that only confirms 100% of her suspicions that she’d been trying to ignore, because the only way in hell that he’d ever be able to pick that up would be with those super-enhanced senses. 

Therefore, if Peter’s upset, he’s the guy in red and blue tights.

There. That’s her proof.

What’s she waiting for?

Her hesitance comes soon after Peter greets her with his signature lopsided half-smile—their new normal—as she enters the office the next morning. She returns the expression—though perhaps it’s a little half-hearted—with a small wave, averting her gaze as she makes for her desk. The split-second of eye-contact is too much, she finds. Her heart hammers in her throat as she hides behind her laptop, her gaze burning into the blank screen, fingers frozen and stiff above the keys. 

Unbeknownst to her, Peter’s smile falls the instant she walks past him. He had heard her and Jameson in his office, and yes, it was all because of his super-enhanced hearing. But still, he knew that he couldn’t show his anger, knowing that openly admitting to eavesdropping would be a dead giveaway. Yet, there’s still this underlying hurt and anger beneath the thin veil of nonchalance. The fact that she had lied to him about her true intentions makes his throat feel as if it’s been coated in barbed wire, makes his chest burn. All this time, he had been so sure, so supportive as to what she was doing. There had been this glimmer of hope, real hope, that she was looking for the truth, ready to set the record straight. 

If he had only known that the record she wanted straightened was his secret identity…

He’s then angry at himself for falling for such an act, filled with a bitterness that makes him tighten his jaw, but it brings an annoying sense of guilt that tugs at his chest. True, she had been able to manipulate him, but it was all in his own quest to manipulate her. They were just trying to get something out of the other. Still, he’s not about to admit that he’s in the wrong here. All he wants is the articles about Spidey to stop. 

Michelle just wants to ruin his life to get by in hers.

And yet, perhaps the worst part of it, as angry as he is, he still finds himself thinking about her, looking at her,  _ unable to have a moment’s peace _ from her. Part of him, the part that always tries to see the good in everyone around him, wants to believe that maybe she’s only doing this because Jameson put her up to it. It would make sense. But then, he knows Michelle isn’t one to just let something happen. If she had seen any kind of moral issue with doing this, she’d stand up. Assert herself.

Wouldn’t she?

Not if it was her idea in the first place.

Setting his jaw, his lips pressing into a thin line, he jumps from his chair, roughly pushing it back under his desk before grabbing his camera bag and making for the office entrance.

He just needs some fresh air. 

\--

The next Monday, after an entire weekend ignoring the cloud of guilt looming over her head, Michelle feels as if she’s doing some kind of funeral march walking back into the office, two to-go coffee cups in hand. A few days at home gave her time to plan out her next move, which is of course, the interview with Spider-Man himself. Still, even as she reassures herself that this is what she needs to do, there’s nothing she can do to get rid of that damn  _ you-fucked-up _ feeling. There’s a pit in her stomach, her hands steady despite the jittery sound of her voice as she thanks the coworker who grabs the door for her.

Easily, her eyes land right on Peter’s desk as she walks through the door and she steels herself, taking a breath before walking right up to him. But she slows as she gets closer, and that stupid, dumb, feeling of nervousness comes crawling right back up her spine. She hovers slightly as she reaches him, and her chest tightens as his eyes stay stubbornly glued to this screen. 

“Hey, Peter,” she finally wills herself to say, her voice coming out breathy and strained. 

Finally, he looks up at her, smiling, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, Michelle,” he repeats back to her. 

Shrugging with a tip of her head, she holds out his mocha. “Brought you a coffee,” she continues lamely. “Do you have a second?”

“Uh, thanks.” His lips press together into another thin smile, huffing lightly through his nose as he gestures to the corner of his desk. “You can just leave it there… I’ve got—I’ve got some things I need to work on for a bit. Sorry.” As he says that last bit, he glances away from her, back to his computer again, and she knows for a fact that he’s only pretending to type something important.

“Ah. Yeah. No problem.” She nods quickly, trying her hardest to maintain a sense of nonchalance. There’s an stinging at the back of her throat, and she suddenly finds herself averting her own gaze, fixing it on an interesting part the outer corner of his cubicle. “Another time.”

Peter’s eyes flash to hers briefly, and he responds with a quiet hum in agreement. 

Still, even with his dismissal, Michelle finds herself unable to walk away. She lingers a moment longer, feeling as if all the oxygen’s been sucked right out of the room. “Is… Is Spidey still good for our interview tonight?” She asks, her tone coming out weaker than she’d ever wanted it to. 

At that, Peter’s eyes dart up to meet hers again, this time holding. There’s something in them that she can’t quite read. After a beat, he gives a single nod as he looks back to his computer screen. “Yeah. He’s still good.”

“Awesome.” Michelle offers a small, grateful smile, ducking her head slightly so that he’ll see. 

He still doesn’t look up. 

“Thanks… Uh…” That tingling in the back of her throat turns into an unwelcome lump. “Thanks for setting it up.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes still trained on whatever he’s working on—nothing. “Yeah. No problem.” 

It’s with that final three words that she takes the hint. She nods slowly, tearing herself away without another word, trying not to look back again as she makes her way back to her own desk. 

It has to be a good sign, right? That Peter’s still willing to help her with this article. For a moment, she starts to think that maybe he didn’t hear her after all, and that maybe his distance is from something else entirely. Perhaps a personal, family matter. Maybe he’s not Spider-Man. After all, why on Earth would he keep going through this if he knew what she was up to?

(Something tells her, once again, that she’s only making excuses now.)

(But then she tells that something to shut up.)

Peter’s weekend, of course, wasn’t spent planning the next move. In fact, there wasn’t going to be another move. He had decided right as he got home Friday night that he and Michelle Jones were never going to be friends. He was set in his decision, determined to never speak to her again, give her the devastation of a cold, icy shoulder—not that he thought it would have much of an effect on her, but if it meant her never getting to the bottom of who he really was, then he was perfectly happy. 

All of it had been settled, and he had come to terms with the fact that it was never meant to be. That is, until she had appeared at his desk again the following Monday morning with the metaphorical peace offering of coffee. It had been harder, harder than he’d expected to maintain any sort of cool exterior while she stood in front of him, her expression something he could only assume was regret. He’d wondered for a moment if she figured out that he’d heard, and that this turned out to be her way of apologizing. 

But then…

Then she had to ask about interviewing Spider-Man. She had to, of fucking course. 

He hid his anger well, at least he thought. 

So, he had said yes, stupidly, against his better judgement. Though, as he had watched her walk away, he realized that this could be an opportunity for him. An opportunity to confront her, but as Spidey. With the mask on, things would be different. As his alter-ego, he had the upper hand, not her. He could use his quips and quick, snarky wit that he used with any other bad guy. 

He leaves before her, obviously, changing into his suit as he did everyday after work to get ready for his evening patrol. He watches from the rooftops as she walks out of the building, loosely trailing behind her as she walks with her head down toward the small cafe they had arranged to meet at before he knew about any of this. Her notebook is clutched tightly to her chest, her messenger back slung over her shoulder as she dodges other pedestrians. But the closer they get, the more Peter starts to feel that frustration and petty anger rise within him, a stinging bile in his throat. 

He hangs off the side of a building across the street from the little cafe, and he tears his gaze away as she steps through the front doors, his heart threatening to jump right out of his chest. In a split-second decision fueled by his own bitterness, he jumps from the wall, swinging and leaping from building to building, away from where Michelle sits in the little cafe. 

It’s only what she deserves.

\--

Michelle sits after ordering her tea, her leg bouncing restlessly underneath the table as she stares at the entrance. The minutes tick by, and she can’t help but obsessively—and perhaps a bit self-consciously—check her phone with every impatient sip of her drink. Soon, twenty minutes passes, then a half-hour, then an hour. Normally, this is something that would warrant a phonecall, either worried or angry—depending on the interviewee. But there’s this sinking feeling in her stomach, a hollowness to her chest, as she looks at her phone again, looking for some kind of text or missed call, explaining the situation. 

At first, she thinks that maybe Pe— _ Spider-Man’s _ been caught up in some kind of crime-fighting vigilante business, but there’s nothing on the news as she turns to look at the TV in the corner of the cafe. 

It’s at the hour-and-five minute mark after her third tea that she feels prickling annoyance mingling with the emptiness. Mouth setting into a tight frown, she whips her phone out again, composing a text that’s both firm and the slightest bit petty. 

**Michelle Jones:** Hi! So, Spidey still isn’t here. Did he forget or…?

She sends it, hoping for Peter’s sake that he has a better excuse than just “forgetting.” 

About a minute later, her phone buzzes, and she’s unable to keep herself from snatching it up immediately. Though, she almost wishes she hadn’t looked at it in the first place. 

**Peter Parker:** Oh, shit. Sorry. I guess I forgot to remind him. Oops

It’s the audacity of the little casual  _ oops _ that punctuates the text that nearly prompts her to throw her phone across the cafe. Instead, she elects to keep her cell safe, and decides to just hit him back with the classic passive aggression she’s perfected in her time being around him. 

**Michelle Jones:** It’s fine. Guess it was my fault for thinking you’d be on top of something for once

**Michelle Jones:** Or assuming that you’d be willing to help a friend out

Immediately, she gets a reply, one that makes her want to claw her eyes out in frustration. 

**Peter Parker:** oh didn’t know we were friends. good to know  _ (thumbs-up emoji) _

She doesn’t dignify that with a response just yet, grabbing her bag and aggressively swinging it over her shoulder as she storms out of the cafe. As she steps out into the cool evening air, she still feels unbearably hot, feeling a concoction of anger and hurt boiling within her. She opens her Uber app, summoning a ride because she frankly doesn’t feel up to just walking home. 

Any idiot could see that they were something close to friends. 

Okay, so maybe she’s been lying to herself, saying that she and Peter weren’t friends before. But now, after getting to know him, after feeling all of these feelings the past few days, all of the hurt, she realizes how much in denial she’s been. 

But that realization doesn’t make her any less angry. 

It takes another few minutes before her Uber arrives, a nice man named Adam. He only asks if she’s Michelle before she gets into the car, but he doesn’t speak anymore as he drives through the city streets. 

It’s in that moment, as she’s staring down at his sarcastic reply, that she decides right then and there that this whole idea of friendship between them is over, and that she’s going to write that damn article. Maybe she was trying to protect him before, for some stupid, unknown reason, but now—now she doesn’t care. He’s Spider-Man. And though she may not have physical proof, that’s not going to stop her. She’ll get it one way or another. 

Finally, she’s able to type up her response. It’s not her most eloquent, or even her worst way to hurt him, and she can’t help but feel like it’s so high school, but she finds it hard to think with this annoying stinging at the backs of her eyes. 

**Michelle Jones:** not anymore, don’t worry

The roar of her hot blood rushing in her ears as she stares down at her phone blocks out the world around her as her Uber drives through the green light. 

She doesn’t hear anything under her own thoughts. 

She doesn’t hear the sound of her driver yelling as he slams on the accelerator, the blaring of a car horn fast approaching, the squealing of tires as a car suddenly brakes.

There’s a crashing impact, metal crunching and scratching against metal as the other driver slams into the rear of their car, and suddenly, her world is spinning.

And spinning.

She clings desperately to her seat, one hand clawing at the door handle as they spin out of control, before she’s jerked forward against her seatbelt as the car collides head-on with a light post. 

All in under a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh what's gonna happen??? lemme know what u think ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! back with another update in a little over a week!! wow who am i
> 
> hope you guys enjoy this one!!! Just one chapter left!

The silence that follows a car accident is one that stays with you. It's piercing, deafeningly loud, and the air feels as if it's been sucked right out of your lungs. The crushing stillness makes you feel as though time has stopped, and in the next moment, you're roughly yanked back to reality by the harsh smell of hot metal and burnt rubber.

Michelle remembers being in one other car accident before. When she was seven. Her mom had been driving with her on the way home from Grandma Jones's house. Some guy merging onto the highway hadn't been paying attention, and he'd merged right into them. And although it's been nearly eighteen years, Michelle finds that it's the same feeling; it's as though she's woken up in a place that's not home, not knowing where she is. Nothing makes sense. She remembers sitting there in shock, unable to scream or cry as they spun out on the highway. 

She blinks blearily, trying her best to process what's just happened. The front windshield is shattered, as is the window next to her. Sirens can be heard in the distance, a sound she almost doesn't hear over the roar of her blood rushing in her ears. But there's a fleeting sense of relief when she hears the driver groaning weakly from the front seat, and her racing heart hammering in her throat reminds her that she's alive, too. But the feeling is short-lived, the sight and smell of smoke rising from the hood of the car igniting a disorienting panic within her. The door won't budge, even as she uses every ounce of numb, shaky strength she has. A string of breathless, urgent curses spills from her mouth as she tries again, shoving harder. 

It still doesn't move. 

The driver moves again, and her eyes snap to him.

"Hey!" Michelle's voice is hoarse as she tries to speak to the barely-conscious driver, hoping that he can somehow get his open.

His only answer is another weak groan. 

_ Fuck.  _

Then, it all happens so fast. 

She sees the flash of red and blue, and her heart seizes in her chest. Spider-Man lands at the driver's side, webbing the door and yanking it away. His voice barely registers over the shock, but the gentleness in his tone isn't missed. He hauls the driver over his shoulder and carries him away from the wreck, the paramedics arriving just in time. Without stopping, Spidey swings back over to Michelle's side, ripping the door apart and throwing it to the side. He freezes, however, upon seeing her, the white of his mechanical eyes widening. It's brief, barely a second, but it's a pause. In the next moment, he pulls her into a fierce embrace. When he pulls her out of the car, his right arm catches on the torn, jagged metal from the door frame, and she can hear his sharp intake of breath underneath his mask as it tears his suit and drags against his skin.

The chilled night air stings her hot skin, and she finds herself clinging desperately to the man holding her. She sees the other driver, standing by the ambulance, wrapped in a blanket. An older man, possibly in his late sixties. Thankfully, he appears to be unharmed, if not a little shaken. His SUV doesn't look to have taken much damage either, luckily for him. His eyes catch hers as she's brought closer, and her stomach leaps into her chest at the guilt that's etched onto his expression.

"Can you stand?" Spidey's voice jars her, and she gets dizzy at how quickly she turns her head to look at him. His face is inches from hers. For a second time, she feels as if the air's been sucked from her lungs, her chest tightening, both at the realization of their proximity and the tenderness to his tone.

After a beat, she nods weakly, swallowing. "Uh-huh…" Gingerly, he allows her feet to fall to the ground, but he keeps a hand on her waist as she stumbles on shaky legs. She barely notices that two paramedics have come to her side, taking her from Spider-Man and allowing her to lean on them for support. 

Michelle holds his gaze for a moment. It's not common for her to be speechless, but she finds herself unable to form words as he stares right back at her, the world around them seeming to disappear. 

Though one of the paramedics speaks before she can give herself another chance. 

"Thanks, Spidey. We got it from here!" The one on her left says. 

Spider-Man nods, breaking out of his own trance as he starts to back away. "Yeah, uh, no problem," he manages, a little breathless. 

Before Michelle can even thank him for saving her, he shoots a web at a nearby light post, launching himself into the air and swinging away into the night. 

And just like that, he's gone. 

The rest of the night feels as though Michelle's only blinked. In one moment, she's sitting in the back of the ambulance, waiting at the crash site, talking to an Uber representative on the phone. The next she's in the emergency room, the feel of the stiff fabric of a hospital gown against her skin, tied down by too many wires stuck to her. Her phone vibrates from her pile of belongings on the other side of the room. Two, maybe three times, but she doesn't have the energy to check. Then, Betty rushes into the room and wraps her in a tight yet careful hug. Something squeezes Michelle's heart at the sight of her roommate's eyes brimmed with anxious tears, even though Betty hides them well. She doesn't leave Michelle's side, even as the hours of waiting for test results drag on. 

After nearly four hours in the emergency room, Michelle's finally discharged. Thankfully, her injuries aren't severe. Lucky as she is, she's still pretty banged up, and she really begins to notice just how much pain she's in as her shock and adrenaline wear off. Her chest where the seatbelt had slammed against her aches; she'd nearly fainted seeing the purple and black bruise as she'd changed back into her work clothes in the hospital. There's a sharp discomfort in her neck when she turns. Her limping steps to Betty's car are careful and calculated. She tries everything to bite back her sharp wince as she lowers herself into the front seat. 

She doesn't tell Betty any of this, even when her heart starts racing from getting into a car so soon after such a serious wreck. Though she suspects that Betty notices how her hands are still shaking, her breath still uneven.

When they get back to the apartment, Betty makes sure to help Michelle to the elevator. Normally, they'd take the stairs, but neither thinks she's in any condition to climb all six floors. Almost immediately, as she steps through the front door and into the living room, Michelle feels an overwhelming urge to cry. Yet, she holds it back as she slowly makes her way to her room, Betty following close behind with two extra blankets from the hall closet. The lump in Michelle's throat only grows as she gets ready for bed, her eyes catching the dark bruises littering her body as she gingerly puts on her pajamas.

Betty leaves and returns with a glass of water and two pills of extra-strength ibuprofen. "I know it probably won't do much," she sighs, placing a hand on her hip. "But, it'll help."

Michelle turns, a weak smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Thanks." The expression falls as she pulls her blankets back before lowering herself onto the bed. "Can you hand me my phone? It's in my bag."

Betty gives a silent nod, following where Michelle's pointing to. 

In everything that had happened, Michelle had completely forgotten to check her phone. It's a small issue, to be sure, but she knows that it's not a good idea to keep some people up to date; people like her parents, her boss, her friends, etc. That, and even after being in a terrifying car accident, she still feels the need to check her work email. 

Betty seems to know what she's thinking, giving her a warning look before handing her the phone. 

Michelle ignores it, her heart lurching in her chest, seeing three unread messages from four hours ago. Just after her first few tests in the emergency room. 

All from Peter. 

**Peter:** are you okay?

**Peter:** heard about the accident

**Peter:** on the news

Michelle goes to type a response, almost without even thinking, before her thumbs freeze over the screen. 

"Who's that?" Betty asks, immediately picking up on her friend's change in demeanor. 

MJ's silent for a moment, chewing her bottom lip between her teeth as she stares down at her phone, her heart feeling as if it might spill out of her. It's then that she's hit with the same guilt she'd been feeling for the past week. The same regret tugging at her, not only in her plan to use Peter in exposing Spider-Man's secret identity but her words from earlier. Her treatment of him. All of it. She had been so needlessly wretched to him. Sure, he may have returned some of that hostility from time to time, but perhaps, she thinks, he's had the same change of heart. 

Peter Parker is a good man. Nothing like the picture of arrogance and stupidity she'd so stubbornly painted into her mind all those months ago. 

"Peter…" She trails off, putting her phone on the mattress next to her, leaving the unanswered text. 

Not only had he saved her, but he'd been kind enough to reach out. It's something she knows that's a bare minimum requirement for a relationship, be it friends or… anything else, but she can't help the prickling behind her eyes, the warmth in her chest at his concern. 

"I… I need to go," Michelle suddenly says, wincing as she rises from her bed too quickly. 

She has to see him. 

Betty runs to her, holding her arms, supporting her. "Uh, no. I don't think so," she half-laughs as she gently pushes her to sit back down. "What you need is rest. It's two in the morning." 

Arguing with Betty is pointless. Michelle knows this, and she doesn't dare ask her roommate if she'll drive her. 

Or if calling another Uber is a good idea. 

Wordlessly, Michelle relents, sitting back against the bed. 

Betty seems half-satisfied. "You can go see him tomorrow and talk like real adults. Okay?" She heads for the door, turning back to say a quiet, "Goodnight," before flipping the light switch. 

But it's the opposite of a good night. Michelle sits in bed, unable to sleep. And she can hardly toss and turn with how sore she is. It feels as though hours have passed, but when she looks at the clock, it's only been thirty minutes. It's impossible to get any rest with this soul-crushing guilt weighing on her. Even though she's pretty sure Peter's already figured out what she's been up to, she can't help but have this overwhelming desire to come clean. To apologize for everything she's done. She just wants to make things right. Weeks ago, she might have never considered that as an option. But getting to know and talk to him… she feels as though her entire world has been flipped on its axis. 

It's what Peter deserves. 

Before she can talk herself out of it, she rises from her bed once again, tiptoeing cautiously out of her room and into the apartment, the wood floors cool against her aching feet. An hour or so wouldn't hurt. Betty's sure to be asleep by now, so she'd hardly notice. Michelle would be back before her roommate even knew she was gone. 

Pulling on her shoes and a light jacket, making sure to grab her keys, she makes for the door. 

But when she opens it, she's shocked and surprised to find  _ him _ pacing the hallway just outside. 

Peter freezes upon seeing her, his eyes wide, mouth parted. 

Michelle mirrors his expression, feeling her face warm, and her heart rate quicken. "What… What are you doing here?" 

"Shit. Sorry… Uh…" He shoves his hands into his pockets as he glances anywhere but directly at her. "You didn't… uh… respond to my text… and—and I wanted to see if you were… if you were okay." 

He looks as if he's waiting for her to berate him for his foolishness. 

"I know I probably should've figured you were in the hospital or—or something, but… God—this is dumb. I'm sorry," he laughs bitterly at himself. "I'll go."

Instead, she finds herself doing the opposite. 

Instead, she grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket, and she pulls him into a kiss. 

He's startled at first, but he soon melts into her, one of his hands moving to cup her cheek. 

It's alarming how right this all feels, standing there in his arms, kissing him softly under the glow of her porch light. His lips mold perfectly against hers. They're in no rush, the two of them lost in that singular moment in her open front door. 

When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against his, letting out a breathy laugh as her stomach flips. "I'm okay."

His own huff of laughter mingles with hers. His relaxed, lopsided grin causes Michelle's heart to do things she realizes that it's always done. 

She leads him into her apartment, gently closing the door behind them. When he turns back to her, she can't help herself. 

Michelle loses count of how many times she kisses Peter. 

And how many times she mentally kicks herself for not thinking of doing this with him sooner. 

Not surprisingly, he's gentle with her, careful where he places his hands and how tightly he holds her. It's a tenderness that makes her heart swell, and it makes every thought she had tonight about just talking go right out the window. His hand brushes her bruised ribcage, and she can't hide the sharp gasp that comes out of her at the touch. 

He yanks his hand back, quickly pulling away from the kiss, his brows knit together, eyes wide. "Sorry!" He remembers himself at that moment, stepping away from her embrace, though he keeps a hand on her arm. "Let's uh—we should get you to bed."

"We should talk," Michelle counters behind a yawn. 

"We should talk while we get you to bed," He replies, already placing a hand on her back, encouraging her to lead the way. 

Michelle relents, unable to find any energy to argue. They start for her bedroom, Peter letting her lean on him for support when he notices the light limp to her step. He helps her through the door, leading her to sit on the edge of the bed. She pats the spot next to her, and for a moment, he stares up at the ceiling, a faint laugh bubbling up out of him. 

He concedes, taking off his jacket and setting in onto her dresser before he sits next to her. 

This is supposed to be her time to apologize, to tell him how she feels, how she's felt. But suddenly, sitting next to him on her bed, her knee tucked under her touching his thigh, she finds it incredibly hard to form coherent thoughts. He waits patiently, his thumb drumming lightly against his leg as he sits in silence. 

She dares to look at him, which proves to be a mistake, and now all she can't think about is kissing him again and again. And even as her mind screams at her to just talk, she leans forward, ignoring every single thought as she captures his lips with hers, and he readily kisses her back. One of his arms gently wraps around her waist, and she takes his hand, pulling him as she leans back to lay down beside her. His other hand smooths across her stomach before resting at her hip. 

She cards a weak hand through his soft curls, tugging lightly when his mouth parts from hers, and he starts to trail gentle kisses along the column of her throat. 

As he continues his warm touches, she starts to feel a particular frustration at the fact that they're wearing too many clothes. Her hands still shaking, both from nerves, and from fatigue, she starts working at the buttons on her pajama top. 

No longer feeling her hands on him, Peter pulls away, pausing as he sees what she's doing. He leans back on his arm, hovering above her. He brings a hand up to cover her own, stopping her movements. A silence falls over them as his gaze falls to the exposed valley between her still covered breasts, brow knitting in concern at the black and purple bruising that paints it. 

He shakes his head. "MJ—this… we can't do this right now."

Her heart nearly stops. "What?" 

"I mean—" He gives a light, breathy laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Believe me—I want to. God—I want to. But—uh, you should probably rest. And _ that _ is the opposite of resting."

She hates that he's right, and she hates that she actually chuckles at his nervous dancing around the subject. 

But even if she agrees with him, even if she relents, she still cuddles up close to him, pushing him to lay back and laying her head against his chest. His hands hover above her for a moment, unsure of what to do, before they finally come to hold her to him. In his embrace, she finally starts to feel the welcome pull of sleep, her hand tracing faint circles onto the skin of his bicep. It's a moment that she might have never even imagined just a week ago, but it's one that she can't imagine having gone without. His body is warm against hers, and although there's still a pit swirling in her stomach, though she can't help but worry that this moment is fleeting, she finds a certain peace in the way he breathes with her. 

And Peter can't help but feel the same way. How she feels in his arms is something he'd never thought he'd experience, the feeling that comes with her warm body pressed against his. And especially after seeing her in that car today, after thinking he'd almost lost her. He almost squeezes her tighter at the thought, but he holds back, instead deciding to lay his cheek against her head. All those months of hating her, hating what she wrote about, only to find he'd been falling for her the entire time. 

But the anger he had felt, hearing her in Jameson's office, hearing about her plan to expose Spider-Man, to betray him. 

And then the horror of almost losing her in a car accident. 

It's a disorienting thought, the idea of being in love with her, something he might have laughed at months ago, but he knows it's impossible to deny. Nothing else makes sense.

Her hand brushes against the scar that he'd received earlier, and he tenses as she stops, her fingers tracing the jagged line. 

"What happened?" She mutters sleepily into his chest. 

There's no way that she can't hear the way his heart starts to race. "Uh… Biking accident," he lies, not so easy. 

She nods quietly, not pressing the issue, though her hand stays at its place on his arm. There's a prickling at the back of his neck that says she doesn't believe him.

(She doesn't. She knows exactly where that scar is from.)

And just like that, he's reminded of all of the inner turmoil he'd been experiencing for the past week. There's a nagging, incessant feeling that screams at him to tell her who he is. If she's writing this article, it's in both of their best interests for him to come clean. 

"MJ?" He breathes.

He feels her head turn to look up at him. "Yeah?"

But then, he thinks, what if when he does tell her, she takes that information and really exposes him? What if all of this was some kind of game? 

But… If she feels the way about him that he does about her, then she should know.

"I'm Spider-Man."

The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them. Michelle stiffens against him, her movements stilling. A silence falls over them again, and he can hear the way her breathing changes, and her heart rate quickens, and he wonders if he can tell that he's holding his own breath. 

He just wants her to say something.

Anything at all. 

But still, she doesn't speak, and he can't decide if he should find comfort in that silence. 

Finally, he feels her take in a short breath before she gives him any sort of response. 

"I know," she says, still tense, her fingers gingerly touching the scar on his arm. 

Peter can't say whether or not he's surprised. In one way, he thinks that he should have seen this coming. MJ's smart—a genius. She's observant, and he's not exactly the most subtle person. He would have been surprised if she hadn't figured it out after that first trainwreck of an interview. But then, he wonders why she kept up the act if she'd already known. Why keep involving him in the exposé of his alter ego? What was the point? How long did she plan to keep this going?

Then, there's the question of just how long she's known. The knot in his stomach twists and pulls, the faint stinging behind his eyes becoming impossible to ignore. The warm feeling from before is long gone, and instead, he feels an empty cold. It feels as though his hands are touching dry ice instead of the soft fabric of her pajamas. 

It's then when her hand brushes his scar again as she starts to pull away from him that he feels his heart start to crack. 

"I—" She starts, her voice failing. "I think… I'm getting pretty tired." She offers her lame excuse. "I should—I should get some... rest." 

_ Well, she's got what she wanted. She's got her article right there. _

Wordlessly, Peter nods, finding himself unable to speak, much less open his mouth. His jaw sets as he sits up, and he doesn't look at her as he moves to grab his jacket and pull it on. He's not sure if he's more angry or heartbroken, the two emotions seeming to come together in some sort of sick concoction. He's mad at himself for being so stupid in thinking that she might not be the person he'd so stubbornly convinced himself. How could he have missed the signs? 

He knows that a rational adult might talk about this, but he still finds that he can't mutter a single word, much less meet her gaze as she leads him to the front door. She opens the door for him, her eyes trained on the ground as he walks past her. For a moment, he hesitates under the dim porch light, the fleeting hope that she might say something desperately trying to fight it's way to the surface. 

But still, she says nothing, even as she looks up at him. There's something in her eyes that he can't quite place, something that causes his heart to leap into his throat. 

After a beat, he doesn't wait anymore. He leaves, stubbornly ignoring the way his vision starts to cloud. 

He doesn't see how she keeps the door open.

He doesn't see how she watches him leave.

And he doesn't see how she wipes at her own eyes, pushing away remorseful, unshed tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, leaving comments, and leaving kudos!! it means the world to me!! let me know what you guys thought of this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys we made it! I guess the real enemies to lovers was the friends we made along the way huh
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this last chapter! I've got a lot of fun stuff coming up in the next few weeks!!

Michelle's not sure why she doesn't say anything as Peter leaves her apartment in the middle of the night. She wants to, more than anything, she wants to. But for the life of her, she can't get the words out. 

When she can no longer see him, she closes the door behind her, the soft  _ click _ echoing throughout the darkened apartment. Her head swims as she leans back against the door, running a shaky hand through her hair, and her chest feels as though it's been filled with lead. There's a heavy ache there, one with nothing to do with the black and purple bruises covering her skin. 

How can she have messed everything up  _ this badly? _

Part of her knows why she thinks. 

All this time, she's known.

From the very first interview, she's known that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. It was impossible to miss. Yet she allowed her heart, whatever it always felt for him, to lead instead of her brain. The concoction of subconscious guilt and affection had caused her to be in complete denial of everything right in front of her. She kept telling herself that all she needed was evidence, proof that the man slowly winning her over was, in fact, New York's Webhead. Her rationale was that if she ruined some poor guy's life, it had to be the right one. 

She had wanted her proof. 

And well… she got it. 

Peter openly admitting to her that he was Spider-Man might have been the last thing she'd ever wanted to hear from him. She knows that she should have said something other than, "I know." It was dumb. Stupid. But she honestly hadn't known what else to say. Hearing those words from him, all of the gut-wrenching regrets had gnawed its way back. She'd forgotten that she had been in his arms. Instead, she'd frozen, throat going dry, tongue feeling like cotton in her mouth, her body's physiological response to the stress. 

There's a fleeting moment where she's almost angry with him for telling her, and she wonders how he could ruin such a moment. But then, the feeling passes almost as quickly as it had appeared. Her misplaced anger melts into a sharp pang of guilt. 

She wants to talk to him. She  _ needs _ to talk to him. 

But she'd seen how hurt he'd been. He wouldn't even look at her as she walked him out. 

And now, as she sits in her apartment three days later, working from home for the week, she wars with herself as she never has before over an article. Realistically, she knows that this would skyrocket her career, that exposing Spidey would be in her best interest. That it would take her beyond the Daily Bugle, give her a way out. 

But still, there's that persistent gnawing in her gut, a weightiness to her chest that makes her want to lie in bed all day. 

She can't write this article. 

Peter doesn't deserve this. 

Staring at the document on the screen of her laptop, her jaw clenched, mouth twisting in thought, her fingers lie frozen on the keyboard. Here, there's everything she's learned in this whole process. All of her thoughts and internal monologues. Ideas for scathing, punny titles. Every little thing Peter's told her. Every interview painstakingly typed out from her voice recordings. 

Then, she highlights all of her text and deletes everything. 

The cursor blinks with her heartbeat. 

If she's going to write anything, it's going to be the truth. 

Not Jameson's truth.

Not the Daily Bugle's truth.

_ Hers. _

_ Spider-Man's _ .

_ Peter's.  _

\--

The week crawls by, and Michelle spends more time than she'd like to admit glancing at her phone, jumping every time it so much as  _ pings _ . Nothing ever comes from Peter, though. Clearly, he's set on ignoring her. Which is fine, she reasons. She's not sure she deserves to hear from him. It's a sad thought, one that she hates herself for even thinking in the first place, but she can't help it, even as she tries to shake it away. 

She's back in the office less than a week after the crash, her work clothes able to hide any other bruises she'd gotten. Her coworkers are relentless, though, every single one of them clamoring to help her with whatever she needed. 

Well, all except for one. 

Peter's back to ignoring her again. Michelle shooting herself in the foot, really dragged them right back to square one. It makes her feel sick. Yet, she knows that Peter's right to be upset with her. While she's unsure if he knows everything she's been doing, she wouldn't be surprised. 

But here's hoping her actions in the past week make up for it all. 

Michelle had finished the new article a day ago, emailing Jameson and asking if he'd wanted to see it before posting. Surprisingly and unsurprisingly, he had declined, enthusiastically typing perhaps with a broken caps lock button about how he wants to be surprised and how he trusts her wholeheartedly with such a big piece. 

And it seems like he's realized his bad judgment, because the day after it's posted, he's yelling at her to get into his office. She's never had this J. Jonah Jameson anger directed right at her. Sure, she's seen it loads of times, mostly aimed at every other person who worked there, especially poor assistant Hoffman. Jameson's face is red as he demands an explanation, pointing an accusing finger at the article on his computer screen. 

The title reads: "Spider-Man: The Hero Behind the Mask."

"JONES, WHAT IT GOD'S NAME IS THIS?" Jameson shouts, his voice cracking as it goes out of a normal decibel range. "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO GET THAT MENACE'S IDENTITY!"

Michelle stays calm and cool, not flinching even as he yells right in her face. "I had other ideas."

"OTHER IDEAS?" He balks, stammering to himself in shock. "OTHER? IDEAS?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?"

She admits inwardly that it's not her best title, nor her best work. It's rushed. It's fluffy. It's full of cliches and overused metaphors. 

But she's never been more proud of something she's written. 

It's the truth—a straightforward message.

Spider-Man is a hero.

His identity? 

Unknown.

"Jones," Jameson says, his voice lowered to almost a reasonable volume. "I'm going to give you a chance, alright? You take this article down, write the real thing for me. We pretend none of this ever happened."

Michelle stares back at him for a moment, her gaze challenging. 

"No," She says simply. 

"NO?" He goes back to yelling before quieting himself again. "DO YOU WANT TO GET FIRED, JONES?!"

It's then that MJ pulls the envelope out of her bag, handing it over. "Actually, that won't be necessary." Her voice comes out in cool confidence, even though her heart feels like it's beating eighty miles an hour. "Here's my letter of resignation."

Without waiting for a response, she stands, her eye-catching Peter as he walks by the door. Jameson's angry rant falls on deaf ears as Peter does a double-take, his gaze briefly meeting hers through the glass. He looks nervous, shaky even, his camera bag clutched to his chest. 

"DID YOU EVEN FIND OUT WHO SPIDER-MAN IS?" Jameson's voice shatters the silence, though it doesn't startle her.

She pauses a moment, not daring to glance out at Peter as he waits just outside the door. 

Her lips press into a thin, satisfied line as she shakes her head. 

"No."

And she doesn't hear anything else that Jameson yells at her as she makes for the door, her heart nearly falling out of her as Peter's eyes meet hers once again. There's a different tint to his gaze than there had been all week, though it's still one that she can't quite place. The difference is there, though, and it fills her with a strange sense of warm anticipation. Though, this new feeling doesn't ward off the guilt still festering within her. There's still the faint stinging behind her eyes. The lump in her throat is smaller now, but it hasn't left. 

And even though things seem to have started looking up, nothing changes. In the next few days, she and Peter still ignore each other. He had heard her in Jameson's office once again, the way their boss had berated and snapped at her. Hell, he'd seen the article she'd posted the night before. 

His stomach had been in knots when he saw the headline, his fingers shaking as he'd clicked the link on his phone and scrolled. But then, as he'd read, a warmth had started to bloom in his chest, the rock in his belly being chipped away with every word. 

Seven days too long of heartache and fear, not only because of what he was afraid of what Michelle would write, but Michelle herself. How he'd left her that night. He'd known that a rational adult might have stopped and talked to her, worked things out. But he had been so overcome by his hurt and anger, leaving her under the cold, dim porch light. 

The past week had been spent in pure, unadulterated fear and agony. Peter had been waiting for the article to drop, knowing it was only a matter of time. 

Now, as he's swinging through the streets of New York City, the lights beaming around him, those fears are gone. 

Well, most of them.

He still needs to talk to her. 

And Michelle still needs to talk to him. 

She paces her room that night, boxes filled with things from her desk at the Bugle stacked haphazardly in the corner. Her phone is clutched in her hands, fingers wrapped tightly in a vice-like grip. There's still a slight limp to her step as she walks, though it's not as noticeable. No, most of the physical pain from the last week subsided, taking a back seat to both emotional and mental. 

Part of her desperately wants to call Peter. Invite him over. Hash things out. 

But she knows that it's his decision. He gets to decide when they talk. It's his pace. 

She doesn't want to pressure him into anything. 

Especially given that this is all mostly her fault. 

Then again, she thinks she might not have thought to approach him if not for this article. Cruel as it was, it had brought them together. She only wishes that she had stopped herself sooner, that she had quit the whole charade as soon as she'd figured out. Because really, in the past few days, it had become evident to her that she never really hated the man. 

She just didn't  _ get him  _ at first. 

Although there are still many things she can and wants to learn about him, she feels as though she  _ does _ . 

And maybe he gets her, too. 

She hopes at least. 

She's startled by a gentle tapping at her window.

Her sixth story window. 

Her heart pounds in her ears as she turns, her vision clouding the slightest bit at the sight of Spider-Man himself hanging outside her window. Her feet move of their own accord, and she opens the window without a second thought. She shivers, unsure whether it's because of the Autumn chill or the person there with her. "Hi," she breathes, her voice suddenly failing her. 

"Uh, hi…" Peter trails off, voice muffled slightly underneath the mask. "Can I… Can I come in?" He gestures with one of his hands. 

She nods wordlessly, stepping aside as he gracefully falls through the open window. 

Silence falls between them as he looks around her room, feeling as though he's looking at it for the first time, even though he'd been here the week before. Slowly, he turns to face her, pulling his mask off. He wrings the fabric between his hands as he continues to glance anywhere but at her. "I, uh... I saw the article."

"Yeah?" MJ finds herself asking. 

He nods faintly. "It was… It was really good," he offers lamely, feeling like a nervous teenager all over again. "I liked it."

Michelle smiles, a shaky smile. "I'm glad. I… uh, I wanted to… Get the truth out there. You know?"

Peter's expression matches hers. "Yeah…" And again, he looks away from her, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "I also... I heard you quit. And—and I also turned in my uh—my one-day notice, too. I guess. Got tired of giving that guy pics of me."

"Oh? Nice." Michelle nods, not knowing what else to say. "Speaking of… the truth…" She starts, her voice trailing off as she moves to sit on her bed. She feels his eyes come back to her, but she can't bring herself to meet them. Speaking, she finds, proves to be more difficult than it had been. Sure, she could write a big fluff piece about how great a hero he is, but now… Now is the moment to come clean. 

To actually make things right. 

"I—" When she finally speaks, it's only the single syllable. She shakes her head, turning to look at him, her chest aching at his earnest expression. Her eyes hold his for a moment before she feels the spark of bravery she's been waiting for. "I'm sorry," she starts, tearing her gaze away. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him tilt his head. "I… haven't been completely honest with you. When—when I told you that I wanted to get the truth about Spider-Man out there… I—" she has to stop herself, taking a breath to calm the waver in her voice. "I was tired of… of writing those horrible articles for Jameson… So I figured if I could offer him something bigger… Something like… Spider-Man's identity… he'd let me move on. And I figured it could help me get a better job somewhere."

Peter stays silent as he listens, and it becomes increasingly difficult to gauge how exactly he's feeling. 

"I'm sorry," she says again, finally meeting his eyes once more. 

After a beat of deafening silence, he moves to sit next to her, his mask still wound tightly in his grip. "Wow…" He breathes, taking it all in. 

"I know," MJ replies, her tone full of shame, disgusted with herself.

"When did you figure it out?" Peter asks. 

"First interview."

At that, Peter actually chuckles, both laughing at himself for not being more careful and impressed at MJ being so observant. "Really?" He asks with a half-smile that causes Michelle's stomach to flip.

She nods, smiling back sadly. "But… I don't know… I was just in denial the whole time. Like, I kept telling myself to keep investigating. To keep talking to you. But… I think that was just me  _ wanting _ to talk to you more… Not wanting our interviews to end, I guess."

Peter seems to smile at that, though it's not a bright expression, as he nods in understanding. 

"It's a shitty reason, I know," MJ huffs out a remorseful laugh. 

"Yeah," Peter agrees, biting back a smile. 

She doesn't blame him. "And when you told me you were Spider-Man… I just couldn't handle having that kind of proof," she stops, though she quickly explains herself. "Not that I'm upset, you told me. I'm… I'm glad you did." 

Peter's quiet a moment, thoughtful. "I am, too," he finally says. Though, even as he grins at her, there's still a nervous edge to his voice. "I… I also haven't been completely honest with you," he starts, and the knot in her stomach twists, even with the hint of amusement in his tone. "The only reason I agreed to help you with the article in the first place… was 'cause—get this—I thought that I could get you… I thought that if I could get you to be friends with me…" He trails off on the last part, shrugging slightly. "I guess I thought that I could get you to stop writing articles about Spider-Man," he finally gets out. He turns toward her, his knee now touching hers. She can feel his warm body through the fabric of his suit, and it only makes her want to lean more into him. "MJ," He starts again, one of his hands coming to rest over hers. She startles but relaxes. "I just wanna say that… I'm sorry, too."

Michelle stares at him a moment before a slow grin stretches across her face. "Okay, now that's not nearly as bad as mine."

Peter shrugs again. "I mean, I don't know…" He sighs. "We're both assholes here."

She can't help the laugh that bubbles out of her. "Fair."

It's almost too fast, how Peter's gaze flits down to her mouth for a fraction of a second. "We good?" He asks, his voice soft. 

Michelle's lips curve into a shy smile, her tooth sticking out ever so slightly. "I feel like I should be asking that," she says, the quiet of her voice matching his. "Are we good?"

Peter smiles right back at her. "We're good."

"Good."

With that, he cups her jaw, pulling her to him and capturing her lips with his. It's amazing how it makes the two feel like they're back in high school. The sweaty palms, the rapidly beating hearts, the air being sucked from the room. It's all there. The kiss turns from slow and tender to hungry, impassioned, as if they're making up for lost time as he pushes her into the mattress. It's become almost urgent, all tongues and teeth, soft moans filling the room as hands start to roam, and clothes are thrown to the floor.

Michelle marvels at the body hiding underneath the suit, her hands instantly reaching out, and Peter has to bite back his groan as she traces her fingernails lightly over his abs. She'd always suspected something, given that the buttons of the shirts he wore to work were always holding on for dear life. 

But  _ damn _ .

It's almost dizzying, how it feels to be with him. How it feels to have him pressing his hardness against her as they kiss. How it feels as he parts from her, his lips moving to her cheek, her jaw, her neck. His breath is hot on her collarbone as he ends his trail of languid, open-mouth kisses along the column of her throat. 

The barely-there touch of his hand over the swell of her breast brings another shiver, and she smiles breathlessly as he plants a kiss in the dip between. His hands lower, ghosting over her stomach, and she cards her fingers through his soft curls, tugging as he touches her. He brings her over the edge, and she's left panting, still catching her breath as he pushes into her. They move together easily, and for the second time, she curses herself mentally for realizing that they could have been doing  _ this _ a lot sooner. 

And Peter can't help but feel the same way as he watches her writhe beneath him, her brows pinched together, his gaze drawn to her how her bottom lip is caught between her teeth. He listens to her moan his name as they finish together, his heart soaring at the sound. 

They lay there a moment, breathless in each other's arms. Peter cups her face again, capturing her lips into a slow, lazy kiss. After they part, he falls onto his stomach beside her, sighing in content as he burrows into the pillow, and Michelle has to bite back her grin when he turns his head to look at her. 

A beat passes, one where all they can do is stare into each other's eyes. The two of them are filled with a warmth neither of them can even begin to describe.

Peter gazes at her with an affection that makes her feel as though she'll faint right on the spot. "Hey, can I put something on the record?" He asks softly, gently nudging her with the back of his hand.

She stares curiously at him, confused. "What?"

"I really like you," he breathes, a smile tugging at his lips.

MJ feels the fluttering in her chest, her cheeks glowing as she replies, "I really like you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this one! Enemies to lovers has been so fun to write! I actually have a LOVERS to enemies to lovers planned right after this!! so be on the lookout for that! 
> 
> follow me on Tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme and on Twitter @smhomecomeme for fun memes and fic stuff!!

**Author's Note:**

> OOP
> 
> Hope you guys liked it!! How do you think this is gonna turn out?? will their plans work??


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